Death Deserved
by Skye12
Summary: Sam remembers his childhood with Frodo and wonders why his Dancing Spirit had to die. *No Slash*
1. Life of a Dancing Spirite

Who are you? You are not the same one I once knew. It cannot be! My mind is screaming. How did I not see it before that in this moment all the pains of my failure are evident? You! You are no longer what I once knew. ---------  
  
~~~  
  
Shire Reckoning: April 2993 of the Third Age  
  
It was a day that could only be described by sound. A day when the sun serenaded in warmth and song and let unfold golden tendrils of light all upon the Hill. A day when the grass whispered in giggling mirth as the sweet, whistling breeze ran though it. The bright blue sky rang out like clear trumpets and tumbling clouds soared in harmony with the chirp and twitter of birds. It was only morning and still as bright as noon and the heat crooned in a low hum around the people as they went about their work.  
  
It was such a day that young Samwise decided to sing with the morning and his cheerful voice filtered through the garden as the very flowers harkened. But quickly this peaceful song was hushed by Sam's Gaffer who was very set in his ways in going about the gardens.  
  
"You'll bother the master and his heir! You're naught but a ninnyhammer Sam Gamgee."  
  
Sam winced at his Gaffer's words and thoughtfully plucked at a weed in shame. A new song seemed to lifted through the heavy air and Sam's ears twitched in the slight harkening of it.  
  
"Now Gaffer, he is no bother."  
  
Sam's heart nearly stopped and his face reddened as he looked up to see Mr. Frodo Baggins standing cheerfully at Bag-End's door with a pipe in one hand and a book in the other.  
  
Sam's Gaffer quickly tried to redeem himself, "Now Mr. Frodo, sir, you don't have to be puttin' up with his racket when you're tryin' to read, sir."  
  
"Ah, but it isn't racket at all!" cried Frodo, feigning shock. "That lad's got a voice to him and I would be honoured to hear it. In fact that's why I came out here. I was just casually reading in the study when I heard the most wonderful sound." Frodo pointed the end of his pipe at Sam and winked. The little hobbit blushed and stared at the weed he had been previously torturing.  
  
"Pretty as the songbirds aye Sam Gamgee?" Frodo laughed and the little hobbit mumbled something incoherently in his regular bashful manner. Frodo laughed and the sound lifted the heaviness of the air like silver bells and Sam looked up rather quickly and startled. The Gaffer just nodded to his master's heir and went about weeding but Sam was rather dumbstruck.  
  
Frodo watched the two for a moment and chewed thoughtfully at the end of his pipe. "Mr. Gamgee!" he called in his fair musical voice. Hamfast looked up from his work. "Do you mind if I borrow young Sam here, I have a bit of a task for him in the plot outside my window, if you don't mind."  
  
"Not at all! Go on Sam!" Hamfast waved his boy away and Sam clambered to his feet, non too gracefully. Immediately he tried to dust off the dirt and grime from his clothes and looked at his master bashfully. He was in awful state to be going into Bag-End.  
  
"Sir!" Sam voice was high and trembling, "Do you mind if I meet you round by your window, I don' wanna track dirt all through the fancy carpets of Bag-End."  
  
Frodo laughed again and waved the book at Sam to go. The little hobbit scurried away round the back of Bag-End and stood outside the window waiting.  
  
The shutters burst open and Sam let out a shriek as he tumbled to the ground. He, once again heard the ringing of light silver bells and looked up to see Frodo leaning out the window. "Sorry to startle you Sam-lad."  
  
"I' twasn't your fault Mr. Frodo." Sam rose and dusted himself off yet again. "What do you need, sir?" Sam's shining brown eyes took a nice long look over the condition of the garden plot and concluded it was in fair good condition.  
  
Frodo leaned over the ledge, closer, and Sam saw that his eyes were dancing with mirth. He was always amazed by the sheer magical appearance of Mr. Baggins's heir and he always thought of elves when he saw him. "Do you see them, Sam?" His voice was nigh a whisper and Sam got a tingle inside of him. Whenever Frodo lowered his voice like that, Sam knew there was some special secretiveness to him. Being only ten, Samwise was an imaginative boy, and Frodo made the perfect playmate, he thought. Whenever he was in the garden Frodo would tell him stories and make up funny tall tales, filling his head with such magic and nonsense that Sam's Gaffer would be furious. Yes, Frodo *was* magic! This conclusion Sam came to right away.  
  
Frodo was the type of boy the always heard the music that the day played. He heard the croon of the heat and the blare of the sky, the harmony of the sun and the melody of the wind. He heard the whispers of the grasses and the ballad that the birds constantly played. The lute of nature's voices and the sweet crisp tinkle of bells as the rain fell or the stream bubbled. It was all music to Frodo, music for Frodo, and he danced. Oh did he dance to it. Sam often thought he was the only one that saw Frodo dancing, because his spirit always had done so and no one ever stopped and stared like Sam did. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before. A being dancing on air singing with the world, being a part of it, mind body and soul, ALIVE! Alive was the only word that could describe Frodo. He was magic and he was ALIVE. Every part of him living from the hair on his head to the hair on his toes it all danced! He was a Dancing Spirit, that's what Sam called it. However so rare a Dancing Spirit was, they were a wonder to come across. Frodo's hair swayed with the music, his eyes shone and danced with light, his slender fingers weaving through tunes in the air as he reached up and snatched them and wove them into the music of life.  
  
Sam looked down and smiled as he saw the tiniest white flowers. They curled on their wee little sprouts, like springs, so young and flexible as they curled around his toes. Sam let out a small giggle and Frodo's laughter joined him. They were truly amazing little things. Small pinpricks of white, like stars against curly green sky that twined around his toes.  
  
"Why, Mr. Frodo! They're bloomin' right round me toes! I ain't seen no sprout grow that fast an' that's for sure!"  
  
Frodo smiled, beaming like the sun at his young friend, "I knew you'd love them! My uncle got their seeds from these strange folk that were walking outside the Shire. He said they were elves! But I've never seen them."  
  
"Elves, sir!?" cried Sam as he wiggled the little curling flowers around his toes. "Hey they got me! How do I get 'em off without doin' harm to 'em?"  
  
Frodo reached down and his slender fingers worked around the tiny sprouts, uncurling them. Once Sam's toes were free Frodo let go and they twirled round like a spring and bounced back into the soil. Frodo gazed at them dreamily and Sam noticed his eyes got a far away look. They sparkled with some sort of magic Sam knew he could only see. "You had to be special to see that kind of magic and even specialer to have it!" So Sam would put it. Frodo was indeed a marvel, he saw things that other people didn't, like the magic in those flowers which many would think were just climbing vines. Frodo saw something deeper, something tender and innocent about the tiny specks and he named them for it.  
  
"Sam," said Frodo dreamily, not taking his eyes off the flowers, "I want to call them something special, because they are such precious little things." He reached over and snatched Sam's small, brown hand in his fair, slender one. He pressed it into the earth and Sam could feel the tiny stems wiggle beneath his fingers and the flowers pucker and kiss his palm.  
  
Sam knew exactly what to call them just then. He gasped as the thought came to him and Frodo's eyes bore into him. "What? I knew you'd have a name!"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Frodo I think I do. Can we call 'em Dancin' Spirits?"  
  
"Dancing Spirits?" Frodo pondered, "Why Sam you're a marvel! They are Dancing Spirits! That's what we'll call them!"  
  
Frodo gazed at them with wonder and his lips formed the words with such tender care Sam found himself doing the same. "Dancing Spirits."  
  
Frodo spoke dreamily as he looked upon the little Dancing Spirits, "They're each a tiny soul, wandering around, exploring their world. They are not content with where they were planted, they want more, to see it all." Frodo continued and his voice had that low, secretive tone. When Frodo spoke like that Sam always listened so intently. "I have a respect for such brave creatures. They are so small, and this world is so big, and they want to see it ALL! I want them to see it all, maybe one day I'll plant them all around so that they may see all the world one day. It's such a wonderful, wonderful world, Sam, never forget that."  
  
Sam nodded his sandy curls bouncing with all sincerity. He may be just a little boy but he knew when to be serious and this was a serious matter. The hobbits gazed around at Frodo's little plot for a while and Sam wondered at the bright blue flowers that reached up to his window sill and opened like great morning glory trumpets and blared their song. There were short yellow ones that popped up like little butter balls, round and sweet in the sunlight. Purpled vines snaked round the window and shone like polished leather as little rosy flowers budded from the vines.  
  
Sam felt something tickled his toes again and he looked down expecting the little white flowers to be twined around them again. But no, this time he saw a tiny beetle with a shiny shell like he was clad in heavy armor. He waddled along and Sam laughed. Frodo leaned over and plucked the little bug from Sam's toe and let it crawl around his fingers. "He looks like he got armor, don't he Mr. Frodo?"  
  
Frodo held out his finger bringing his other hand to his chin and sucking in a deep breath. He puffed out his chest and gazed at the little creature with half lidded eyes as if analyzing him. Sam leaned forward knowing that every time Frodo did this it meant he was going to tell the silliest story that no one could ever believe. Sam loved those stories almost as much as the real ones.  
  
Frodo pointed to the little beetle several times then mumbled and scratched his chin again. "Well you see, Sam-lad, it is true that many young beetles go off to war with the grasshoppers. They say that when they are born they go off and get fitted for their shiny new armor. They prefer blue, but it is commonly known that they cannot make armor that well. Oh yes, they are terrible at making armor so it is awfully uncomfortable. It's bulky and round and when they get turned over in battle they cannot get up. It is quite a funny sight as they flail their legs about. That's what these antennae are for, you know. They use them to push themselves back up and they also make a keen sword against those kniving grasshoppers."  
  
Frodo looked back at Sam, eyes still half lidded. He raised his eyebrows and waited for the younger hobbit to speak. Sam burst out into laughter and fell to the ground giggling. "Oh Mr. Frodo you'll grow a fox tail from you bottom one day! That's what me Gaffer says! When you tell tall tales like such you get a tail yourself!"  
  
Frodo chuckled, "Aye, Sam-lad, maybe I will. But you know it is commonly known that fox tails are very useful. The foxes use them to clean their tracks behind them so that no other animals can follow them and go disturbing them or barging into their homes---"  
  
"Mr. Frodo!" Sam gasped between bouts of laughter.  
  
"You're a sharp one, Sam Gamgee, can't pull anything over on you, can I?" said Frodo as he let the beetle waddle away.  
  
Sam's laughter died down and he scanned about the garden again. This time his eyes narrowed into a feral glare that Frodo had never seen on the innocent young hobbit-lad before. His eyes darted around and then back to Sam. "What is it, Samwise?"  
  
"Over there, snakes and adders is what it is!"  
  
Frodo followed Sam's glare to the corner of the garden where a little gossamer net of silver threads wove between two thin stalks. Frodo shielded his eyes from the shimmering sun as it reflected off of the fine threads and a delicate spider web came into his vision. There sitting in it's center was it's wicked inhabitant. Sam sneered at the evil little thing as its many eyes glared back at him with a pale fire and an unquenchable malice. Frodo did not see this though, he saw the tiny creature sitting in it's empty web waiting patiently for a nice meal.  
  
"I'll take care of 'im Mr. Frodo." Sam reached around and lifted a flat rock and aimed it at the nasty creature. As he was about to swing it Frodo's hand caught his.  
  
"Sam what are you doing!" Sam looked at Frodo, frightened of his master's harsh words.  
  
"I was just gonna mash 'im, Mr. Frodo, tweren't nothin' wrong with that. Spiders is wicked creatures and he'll eat our little friend. Sam motioned to the direction the little beetle hobbled off, in the direction of the spider web.  
  
"Sam, that spider is a living thing too! You can't just condemn it like that! You must respect all lives. How would you like if you were waiting for your meal when someone just up and squashed you?"  
  
"I don't sit 'round an' wait for tiny creatures to come to me so that I may eat them, Mr. Frodo. Spiders is bad news an' no mistake. They munch on the pretty bugs."  
  
"And the bad ones."  
  
"But Mr. Frodo if you let 'im live then you'll be condemning all them other bugs he's just gonna eat later."  
  
Frodo seemed to turn this over in his mind before he pried the rock from Sam's grubby fingers. "It's not up to us, Samwise. Nature has done things like this forever, you can't go squashing all the spiders because you think they are up to no good. You must respect all lives."  
  
Sam nodded and lowered his hand. His mind never changed about spiders but out of respect for his master's wishes, he never mashed them out of cold blood. 


	2. Death of a Dancing Spirit

Who are you? You are not the same one I once knew. It cannot be! My mind is screaming. How did I not see it before that in this moment all the pains of my failure are evident? You! You are no longer what I once knew. ---------  
  
~~~  
  
Shire Reckoning: April 1420 Fourth Age (One year after the Destruction of the Ring)  
  
It was a morning that could only be described in song. Sam remembered mornings like these from his childhood and he knew just how he wanted to spend it. Once the sun hit it's high lustrous note and all the music of the morning was in full swing Sam gathered up his gardening tools and set to tending the garden at Bag-End. He was feeling rather jittery lately and he needed some time to think. Bag-End's gardens were the perfect place to think. In fact he could not think of a better place in the whole of Middle- Earth, perhaps Lothlorien, no Lothlorien was beauty beyond reckoning but it wasn't home. He sighed with relief as he finally made it among the snap- dragons and the lilies.  
  
He had quite a lot on his mind and his Gaffer would always say; "When your mind's gonna be weighed down by all that thunkin' and troublin' don' you go gettin' crushed by all them troubles, Sam Gamgee, it won' solve a thing."  
  
Sam leaned back and sighed, his Gaffer was right. He could let them float away for now. Now the garden sang him a song and he listened. He was sitting in his favorite spot. All among the bright blue trumpets, and the leathery vines, and the butter ball buds he settled himself among the gentle prizes under Frodo's window. His eyes scanned the ground. That pretty plant no longer grew there. It had gone long ago, he had almost forgotten about the Dancing Spirits until he now noticed that there were no more curly springs dancing amongst the grass. No longer did the tiny pin prick stars dazzle and pucker in the fresh green grass. Sam's hands wove frantically but naught a root or leaf was left of it. Not even a sprout of what it had once been could be seen amongst the common grass.  
  
Tears rolled down Sam's cheeks. He had never been so distraught over a single flower before. But these were special. They were extravagant flowers. Flowers he named for his master. Flowers his master loved so very much. They were gone. All of them. Not a trace was left and Sam could not hold to the hope that they did up and wander away to see the world. Perhaps when he was little he would have. Perhaps when he was ten Frodo would tell him a tall tale about flowers walking about the Shire, wandering the woods, and traveling with elves and such. With this evidence the little Sam-lad might have believed it. But no more. He knew the cold hard truth. During that dark winter their precious lives were claimed by the frost. They were so tiny and delicate and how beautiful and brave they were they were fragile. Just as the spirit of his master once was. So brave and beautiful and shattered in the coldness of that venemous Ring!  
  
Sam pounded his fists to the ground and wept. "They're gone! All gone! Broken and destroyed like all the beauty in the world!"  
  
"Sam?"  
  
The hobbit jumped up almost trampling the flowers and turned to see his master standing beside him. Frodo no longer carried music with him. He moved in silence and shadows now. His eyes no longer danced with mirth and his voice no longer sounded like the tinkling of bells. Now his eyes shone with the shadow of pain and there was a dark space where you could see a piece of his soul missing. Sam trembled at these thoughts as he gazed at the shadow of his beloved master that stood before him. The laugh was a cold echo like the ringing of cruel metal on hollow stones in the dark. Sam felt almost afraid of the hobbit that was before him but he tried to hide it.  
  
This hobbit no longer danced. His soul once fluttered high above the ground, Sam could not see it now. He wondered if he lost his special sense. He wondered if he was no longer right to see it. But he knew this wasn't true. It was Frodo that had changed. Sam still had the special sight, but he had nothing to see. The Dancing Spirit inside of his master was dragged to the ground by the weight of the Ring. He no longer danced. He had always heard the music of the day, Sam knew that Frodo was deaf to this day. Just by the way he walked, no longer with that graceful step, that bounce in his feet. It was gone. Like all the beauty in the world. He could no longer hear the croon of the heat and the blare of the sky, the harmony of the sun and the melody of the wind. He was deaf to these things now. The grass did not whisper its secrets to him any more, the ballad of the birds was just a racket to his ears. The lute of nature's voices fell on deaf ears and died in his dark mind. A bubbling stream was mindless chatter to him and he no longer danced. It was his music and he lost it. Now it played for no one and Sam noted that it mourned for their lost listener. No longer would things be as they were, as Sam thought they were always meant to be. Nature would sing, Frodo would dance, and he would watch. Frodo's slender fingers no longer wove the gentle tune of nature's notes. And there was something forever amiss in this new world. It could not be precisely what the old world was and only people with special eyes could see and special ears could hear. Sam saw it. Sam heard it. But Frodo was lost to it and perhaps that was what was missing. Frodo. He was a part of that world. It had lost its Dancing Spirit. It had lost it's note in the song. And now it was forever flawed. Sam wondered if it was because the hands that once wove the music were missing a finger so a single thread was forever amiss. He wondered.  
  
"Sam, what's the matter?" The voice was shaking with love and concern but Sam could still hear the missing note.  
  
"It's- it's your flowers, Mr. Frodo. You're special Dancing Spirits. They're gone."  
  
Frodo looked at the horizon, his hair ruffled in the breeze but he did not heed it. "The world has changed, Sam. I thought I wanted them to see it all. I thought it was wonderful. All of it. They lost their spirit because they knew what I had the learn the hard way." Frodo's hand crept to his neck and tears slipped down his fair face. "I'm glad they're gone!" he spat bitterly. "They would just have their souls stolen away any way! This world steals and crushes everything beautiful!"  
  
Sam trembled trying to hold in his screams. Why was Frodo this way!? He was never so horrid! So frightening! So dark and bitter!  
  
Sam felt something on his hand and he looked down through teary eyes. "Hey look, Mr. Frodo!" he tried to calm his shaking voice and make it sound cheery. "A little beetle goin' off to war."  
  
Frodo's cold stare rested on the beetle. "That's silly, Samwise, it's a beetle they don't fight wars."  
  
Sam let the beetle waddle away and buried his face in his knees. Why!? Why did he have to change!? Why did his Dancing Spirit have to die!? It wasn't fair! There would be no more silly stories of beetles in battles or walking flowers or fox tails. It was all gone! All gone! Everything beautiful in this world was destroyed!  
  
Sam struggled to look up his face a mask of misery and pain. When he looked up at Frodo he saw that his master's face had changed. It had grown paler, his eyes shone with fright and malice. His hand tightened around Sam's shoulder and he hissed between his teeth.  
  
Sam looked around to see what had made Frodo so angry but he saw nothing. Frodo stood stiffly and stomped over to the corner where a frail spider web was shining in the sunlight. The small inhabitant was waiting for her breakfast patiently in the center. Frodo glared down at the tiny villain and before Sam could give a dismayed cry of protest Frodo lifted his foot and stomped the creature and her home into the dust. He growled low and deep in his throat then turned back to Sam. "You were right, Sam," he muttered in a dark tone. "They don't deserve life." With that he stormed away and slammed the door to Bag-End.  
  
For a moment Sam sat, trembling in utter shock and silence until finally he released a wail of anguish and threw himself to the ground. He tore up grass and pounded the earth. WHY! WHY! WHY! Was all he could think. His mind screamed, his voice rasped to sobbing and his face was smeered with dirt and tears.  
  
Who are you? You are not the same one I once knew. It cannot be! My mind is screaming. How did I not see it before that in this moment all the pains of my failure are evident? You! You are no longer what I once knew.  
  
He had tried to save his master and he had failed. The song of the morning became a grim lament and only Sam's ears could hear it.  
  
End. 


End file.
